Romano stood there. Silently. Not moving a muscle. Afraid to so much as breathe. To move. To blink.

W-Why is my heart pounding this damn fast? He thought frantically. W…What the hell is wrong with me…?

Romano stood there for what could've been an hour. He ignored Germany and Italy, standing behind him, Germany frantically asking if France hurt him at all ("Ve~ what do you mean?") if France touched him anywhere ("Yeah, he touched me lots! Why?") and if he could strangle the living daylights out of the Frenchman ("Huh? Germany what's wrong?").

After a while, Germany looked up at Romano. "Um, Romano…?" He walked over. "Are you alright? You…haven't tried to kill me yet."

Romano blinked. He looked up at the confused German standing next to him. Then he smacked him. "You stupid potato-bastard, what're you doing here?" He yelled. "Get out of my house before I…before I…I don't know, but God, it's gonna hurt!"

Germany sighed. "Ja, hello to you too." He turned back toward Italy. "He's alive, don't worry."

Italy smiled. "Yay! Let's celebrate with pasta~!" He hugged Germany and Romano and skipped into the kitchen.

Germany rolled his eyes and followed after him. He paused in the doorway and glanced back at the other Italian scowling at him from across the room. "Are…Are you coming?"

Romano glared at him. "Hell no, bastard!"

Germany gave a relieved sigh and slipped into the kitchen after Italy.

Romano glared at the kitchen for a few seconds, until he finally walked toward the stairs to his room. He walked all the way to his bed and collapsed into it, screwing his eyes shut.

In his mind, he could still see that idiot Spain smiling at him, the way he always would. That goofy smile on his face, that happy sparkle in his eyes…those beautiful green eyes of his, handsome face, tanned skin, messy brown hair… He was smiling at Romano, just smiling…leaning closer to Romano, his eyes shutting…his lips brushing against Romano's—

Romano sat up, his eyes flying open. He blinked, startled. "W-W-What the hell?" He stammered to himself, shaking his head frantically and sitting up. "Damn it, Spain," he mumbled. "Chigi…"

Spain was his friend. Hell, to be honest, he was his only friend. And Romano hated the bastard! He told him all the time. He…He hated Spain. R-Right?

RIGHT?

…

"So I have some tomatoes in the fridge. You guys want some?"

"Oh you have tomatoes? The Awesome Me never would have guessed," Prussia muttered sarcastically.

"Oui, 'ow unexpected." France sat down on a chair nearby. "Why don't you go get us some? And some wine would be nice."

Spain smiled. "Right! ¡Un momento, por favor!" He strode into the next room.

There was a long awkward pause. Then Prussia turned toward France. "Sooooo…" he whispered, "what's plan B?"

France chuckled. "I feel like we're way past plan B by now…" he replied.

Prussia scowled at him. "Oh shut up. What's our next plan, then?"

France thought for a second. "Per'aps we should…" he trailed off, thinking harder. Finally he glanced up at Prussia. "Why is it zat I am always ze one coming up with ze ideas? You think of somezing."

Prussia thought for a second. "Hmm. Well we could always, um…"

"So I had some cilantro to put on the tomatoes," Spain said, walking back into the room. "And it turns out they're really good with that mozzarella cheese Romano loves—"

"Spain, shut up, we're plotting," Prussia snapped.

Spain laughed. "Again? Should I just come back in a minute?"

Prussia smirked. "Yeah, that'd be…" He paused, a thought occurring to him. He glanced down at the tray of food Spain was holding. Then he grinned. "Say Spain, do you think Romano is feeling better?"

Spain blinked, suddenly looking worried. "I hope he is. Why? D-Do you think he still feels sick?"

Prussia pursed his lips, pretending to look concerned. "Well, I don't know, he did look pretty sick…" He looked up at Spain. "Oh, wait, I know what would make him feel better! Why don't you invite him over for dinner?"

Spain's eyes seemed to light up. "That's a great idea!" he enthused. "I bet that would make him feel better! I could make him that pasta he likes! And stuff with tomatoes, since he loves those so much too! ¡Gracias mi amigo! I'll go call him right now!"

Prussia grinned at him as he ran into the other room. "Any time, 'mi amigo'!" He called after him.

France smirked at Prussia as soon as Spain was gone. "Wow," he mused, "zat was actually a good idea."

Prussia smirked back. "I believe the correct term is 'impressionnant'."

…

The door to Romano's bedroom creaked open. Romano jumped, then looked up furiously as Germany strode into the room. Germany paused and coughed uncomfortably. "Um, hallo," he said.

Romano narrowed his eyes. "Hello," he replied slowly.

Germany gave another nervous cough. "J-Ja, um, how are you?"

Romano blinked. "Um, fine…?"

Germany nodded. "Is there anything wrong? Would you like to talk about—?"

"Veneziano's making you do this isn't he?"

"He started going on about how we should all be 'bestest friends' and then we could all be happy together and eat pasta and live happily ever after, or something." Germany sighed. "When I said it was a stupid idea he burst into tears."

Romano snickered. "Wow, you are the most pathetic potato I've ever met."

Germany scowled at him. "You think I'm pathetic?" He shook his head. "Never mind…Can I just lie and say that I made you feel better?"

Romano flipped him off.

"I will just take that as a yes." Germany turned to leave.

Romano glared at him some more. "Idiota—"

Ring ring ring ring ring

Romano flinched and looked down at his cell phone. Then he grimaced, seeing the familiar name flashing across the screen. He stared at it for a few seconds, trying to decide whether or not he should answer the phone.

Finally, he answered. "You bastard, you were just at my house! Did you forget something?"

"¡Hola mi tomate~!" Spain answered with a smile. Well, Romano could just tell the bastard was smiling…

"What do you want, bastard?" He snapped.

"Aw, but Romano, I just wanted to check on you!" Spain protested. "I was worried you'd still be sick!"

"For god's sake, I wasn't sick!" Romano yelled. "I was never sick! You are un idiota!"

Spain paused for a second. "Well, just in case, would you like to come over for dinner?"

Romano blinked. "Huh?"

"Well, I could make you some food!" Spain answered. "That always makes you feel better doesn't it? I could make you some pasta or paella and I still have a bunch of fresh tomatoes left here from the other day too! Please Romano?"

Romano thought for a moment. One the one hand, he hated Spain. On the other hand, he did like food. And Spain was an amazing cook. And he'd be getting plenty of fresh tomatoes.

Romano scowled. "Fine. Bastard. But I'm not eating any of your stupid paella."

Spain grinned. "Of course Romano!" he answered, knowing that Romano always loved eating his paella. "I can't wait! See you soon!"

Romano gave a shaky sigh. "Y-Yeah, uh, see you…" he replied, hanging up the phone.

There was a long awkward silence. Romano took a deep breath, tucking the phone into his pocket. Dinner at Spain's house? Maybe he shouldn't even show up. He kept having this idiotic thought about the Spaniard. Maybe he should just—

Creeeeek

Romano jumped and looked up at the German currently trying to slip out of his room. Romano and Germany stared at each other for a moment. Romano screamed, "W-WAIT A SECOND, I-I THOUGHT YOU LEFT—GET THE HELL OUT OF MY ROOM!" He grabbed a knife out of his bedside table and chucked it at Germany.

Germany sidestepped the knife. "Err, right, sorry, I'll just—" He ducked out of the room.

Romano glared at the door, fuming. That eavesdropping potato bastard! He thought furiously. I'll kill him! I'll stab his eyes out! He got to his feet and walked over to the door.

"Romano~!" Italy glomped him as he opened the door.

Romano yelped and shoved him back. "What the hell do you think you're—?"

"I can't believe you're finally going on a date with big brother Spain!" Italy shouted gleefully, jumping up and down excitedly. "Ve~ What're you going to wear? You have to look nice for your first date! Here, why don't we fix your hair up and get a cute outfit and—"

"W-What?" Romano stammered, turning red. "N-No! I'm not going on a date! W-Who the hell told you—" He froze when he noticed Germany standing awkwardly behind Italy. "…Y-You…YOU SON OF A BITCH, I'LL KILL YOU!" he leapt toward Germany.

Germany held his hand out his hand, holding Romano away from him as he tried to violently swipe at him. "I just said the two of you were talking on the phone," he replied. "He's the one who came up with the date part."

Romano glared at the two of them. He wasn't sure of who to be more angry at, the potato or the idiot currently "ve~"ing happily next to him. But since he couldn't reach the German, he just smacked his brother.

"Idiota!" He snapped. "I'm not going on a date with Spain!"

"O-Ow!" Italy whimpered, ducking back and pressing against Germany's side. "Y-You're not? Oh…" He looked down, disappointed. "It's alright Romano! Spain does like you a lot!"

Germany sighed. "I don't think that's what's worrying him, Italy…" he mumbled.

Romano glared at them some more. Then he realized something he'd said a second ago. "And anyway, what's wrong with what I usually wear?" He asked darkly.

Italy smiled innocently. "It's just that you're still in your underwear, so I thought you'd want help getting dressed! You wouldn't want to go in your underwear would you? I mean, he probably wouldn't get all mad like Germany did that one time I forgot to put on clothes for our date and he—'"

"Shut up!" Romano interrupted him before he could continue his story. "I wasn't going to show up in my underwear like an idiot, but I can dress myself perfectly fine." He stormed back into his room, slamming the door shut hard enough that it just bounced back open. He strode over to his drawer and yanked it open, pulling out a pair of jeans and an old T-shirt.

Italy peaked in after him. "You're wearing that?" He asked, looking worried.

Romano glared at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Italy just stared at him. "You can't wear something like that on your first date! What will big brother Spain think?"

Romano rolled his eyes. "Fine, dumbass, then what do you suggest I wear?"

Italy stared at him for a second, wide-eyed. Romano blinked. "O-Oh shit, w-wait Veneziano, I didn't—"

"YAY~! I GET TO BUY ROMANO A NEW OUTFIT!" Italy cheered happily. "Let's go buy you a new outfit! And we could get him a cute haircut and make him look really nice this is going to be so much fun come on Romano let's go, come on Germany can come too, yay~~~!" He grabbed Romano's arm, then Germany's, then dragged both of them out of the house.

Germany sighed as Italy giggled and dragged the two of them. "Why can't he ever get this excited for training…?"

…

"Merde, Spain, can't your 'air ever lie flat?" France complained, trying to fix Spain's hair.

Spain winced as France tugged on the brush again. He'd already changed outfits several times. Why were his friends worrying so much about his dinner with his friend? "W-Why does it matter?" He asked weakly. "We're just going to be eating dinner, aren't we?"

France paused for a second. Then he laughed. "Of course, mon ami," he answered reassuringly, "but you need to look nice for your dessert~!"

Spain blinked. "I wasn't planning to make a dessert," he replied, beginning to get confused.

France just chuckled. "Of course you weren't…" He replied, giving one more useless tug to the brush he was currently using to assault Spain's hair, finally tossing it onto the table. He glanced toward the front door, where the albino was currently watching through the window. "Anyone 'ere yet?"

Prussia shook his head. "Nope." He turned toward his friends. "So, what're you planning on making Spain? Oh, oh, you gotta put up a bunch of those romantic looking candles too!"

Spain still looked confused. "Why?"

France glared at Prussia. Then he smiled at Spain. "Well, you want to make 'im feel better, so…so why don't you, err, demonstrate 'ow to 'ave a…romantic dinner? You know, to be, err, 'elpful!"

Spain nodded. "Oh, okay, I get it! I need to show him how to be all 'romantic'! Thanks guys! I never realized you two were so nice! I bet Romano will be so grateful!" He smiled at France, who was still trying to figure out how what he'd said made sense.

Prussia rolled his eyes. "I'm sure he will…" he muttered back. He glanced out the window, then straightened up. "Well, we're going to find out, won't we!"

…

"So don't get any food on your cute new shirt and try to smile a little and I hope you have fun on your date and if big brother Spain kisses you don't punch him since I don't know if he'll want to keep going out with you if you kill him and bye Romano have fun~!"

Romano smacked furiously at his younger brother. "W-Will you just stop talking?" He snapped, as Italy continued pushing him toward the front door. "I-It's not a f*cking date! I don't need any advice."

Italy just smiled at him. "Ve~ Of course not," he replied. He gave his brother a hug. "Good luck~!" And he skipped away toward Germany's car, which promptly drove off as soon as Italy was safely inside.

Romano flipped the two of them off, then turned toward Spain's house. He stared at it for a moment, feeling his pulse beginning to speed up. Then he shook his head. "I-It's not a date…" he told himself firmly. He shakily smoothed his shirt and hair. He strode up to the front door. And he slowly knocked on the front door.

This chapter is dedicated to my sick friend, because she has nothing better to do. Since she can't leave her house. Feel better soon!

Impressionnant ~ Awesome (French) What else would it be? And you all know Prussia knows how to say Awesome in as many languages as possible…

Merde ~ Shit (French)

I really can't tell what letter plan they'd be on.